The Devil's Paw Part 20

"Julian Orden," he said, "is a young man of peculiarly stubborn type, but if I thought that my exhortations would be of any benefit, I would not shrink from trying them, whatever it might cost me."

"Better have a try, then," Fenn suggested. "If we do not succeed within the next twenty-four hours, I shall give you an order to see him. I don't mind confessing," he went on confidentially, "that the need for the production of that doc.u.ment is urgent, apart from the risk we run of having our plans forestalled if it should fall into the hands of the Government."

"I presume that Miss Abbeway has already done her best?"

"She has worn herself out with persuasions."

"Has he himself been told the truth?"

Fenn shook his head.

"From your own knowledge of the young man, do you think that it would be of any use? Even Miss Abbeway is forced to admit that any one less likely to sympathise with our aims it would be impossible to find. At the same time, if we do arrange an interview for you, use any arguments you can think of. To tell you the truth, our whole calculations have been upset by not discovering the packet upon his person. He was on his way to Downing Street when our agents intervened, and we never doubted that he would have it with him. When will it be convenient for you to pay your visit?"

"At any time you send for me," the Bishop replied. "Meanwhile, Mr. Fenn, before I leave I want to remind you once more of the original purpose of my call upon you."

Fenn frowned a little peevishly as he rose to usher his visitor out.

"Miss Abbeway has already extorted a foolish promise from us," he said.

"The young man's safety for the present is not in question."

The Bishop, more from custom than from any appet.i.te, walked across the Park to the Athenaeum. Mr. Hannaway Wells accosted him in the hall.

"This is a world of rumours," he remarked with a smile. "I have just heard that Julian Orden, of all men in the world, has been shot as a German spy."

The Bishop smiled with dignity.

"You may take it from me," he said gravely, "that the rumour is untrue."

CHAPTER XI

Nicholas Fenn, although civilisation had laid a heavy hand upon him during the last few years, was certainly not a man whose outward appearance denoted any advance in either culture or taste. His morning clothes, although he had recently abandoned the habit of dealing at a ready-made emporium, were neither well chosen nor well worn. His evening attire was, if possible, worse. He met Catherine that evening in the lobby of what he believed to be a fashionable grillroom, in a swallow-tailed coat, a badly fitting shirt with a single stud-hole, a black tie, a collar which encircled his neck like a clerical band, and ordinary walking boots. She repressed a little shiver as she shook hands and tried to remember that this was not only the man whom several millions of toilers had chosen to be their representative, but also the duly appointed secretary of the most momentous a.s.semblage of human beings in the world's history.

"I hope I am not late," she said. "I really do not care much about dining out, these days, but your message was so insistent."

"One must have relaxation," he declared. "The weight of affairs all day long is a terrible strain. Shall we go in?"

They entered the room and stood looking aimlessly about them, Fenn having, naturally enough, failed to realise the necessity of securing a table. A maitre d'hotel, however, recognised Catherine and hastened to their rescue. She conversed with the man for a few minutes in French, while her companion listened admiringly, and finally, at his solicitation, herself ordered the dinner.

"The news, please, Mr. Fenn?" she asked, as soon as the man had withdrawn.

"News?" he repeated. "Oh, let's leave it alone for a time! One gets sick of shop."

She raised her eyebrows a little discouragingly. She was dressed with extraordinary simplicity, but the difference in caste between the two supplied a problem for many curious observers.

"Why should we talk of trifles," she demanded, "when we both have such a great interest in the most wonderful subject in the world?"

"What is the most wonderful subject in the world?" he asked impressively.

"Our cause, of course," she answered firmly, "the cause of all the peoples--Peace."

"One labours the whole day long for that," he grumbled. "When the hour for rest comes, surely one may drop it for a time?"

"Do you feel like that?" she remarked indifferently. "For myself, during these days I have but one thought. There is nothing else in my life.

And you, with all those thousands and millions of your fellow creatures toiling, watching and waiting for a sign from you--oh, I can't imagine how your thoughts can ever wander from them for a moment, how you can ever remember that self even exists! I should like to be trusted, Mr.

Fenn, as you are trusted."

"My work," he said complacently, "has, I hope, justified that trust."

"Naturally," she a.s.sented, "and yet the greatest part of it is to come.

Tell me about Mr. Orden?"

"There is no change in the fellow's att.i.tude. I don't imagine there will be until the last moment. He is just a pig-headed, insufferably conceited Englishman, full of cla.s.s prejudices to his finger tips."

"He is nevertheless a man," she said thoughtfully. "I heard only yesterday that he earned considerable distinction even in his brief soldiering."

"No doubt," Fenn remarked, without enthusiasm, "he has the bravery of an animal. By the bye, the Bishop dropped in to see me this morning."

"Really?" she asked. "What did he want?"

"Just a personal call," was the elaborately careless reply. "He likes to look in for a chat, now and then. He spoke about Orden, too. I persuaded him that if we don't succeed within the next twenty four hours, it will be his duty to see what he can do."

"Oh, but that was too bad!" she declared. "You know how he feels his position, poor man. He will simply loathe having to tell Julian--Mr.

Orden, I mean that he is connected with--"

"Well, with what, Miss Abbeway?"

"With anything in the nature of a conspiracy. Of course, Mr. Orden wouldn't understand. How could he? I think it was cruel to bring the Bishop into the matter at all."

"Nothing," Fenn p.r.o.nounced, "is cruel that helps the cause. What will you drink, Miss Abbeway? You'll have some champagne, won't you?"

"What a horrible idea!" she exclaimed, smiling at him nevertheless.

"Fancy a great Labour leader suggesting such a thing! No, I'll have some light French wine, thank you."

Fenn pa.s.sed the order on to the waiter, a little crestfallen.

"I don't often drink anything myself," he said, "but this seemed to me to be something of an occasion."

"You have some news, then?"

"Not at all. I meant dining with you."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, that?" she murmured. "That is simply a matter of routine. I thought you had some news, or some work."